Reclaiming Flame
by DeathRealm
Summary: To say life at the mansion was at the moment was back to normal would be denying reality. To put things into perspective, it would actually be the equivalent of one claiming that Magneto was a total pacifist, get the point? Based on Pyro after X3.
1. Rekindling The Fire

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not hold ownership of X Men or any of the characters mentioned in this work of fiction, I am only using the ideas of them to fit in with a plot of my creation.**_

_**WARNINGS: Cursing and sexual references, also possible slash if made into a multiple chapter story.**_

_**Basically I'm writing this for three reasons:**_

_**Because I want to... obviously.**_

_**To perhaps encourage newcomers to write more stories that are John and Bobby centric.**_

_**I had the desire to write a story that explains exactly HOW John came about returning to the institute, opposed to just being there in the opening of the story. It just clears things up and makes it easier to read.**_

_**For the moment this story is intended to be a one-shot, though I'm rather eager to develop it too. So if you decide you like it drop me a line with what you think, carry on or not? **_

_**Thanks and enjoy the story!**_

* * *

**Xavier's Mansion:**

To say life at the mansion was at the moment was back to normal would be denying reality. To put things into perspective, it would actually be the equivalent of one claiming that Magneto was a total pacifist - get the point? Bobby despised the position he was in to the extent where he actually hoped, no, _prayed_, that somehow Charles Xavier would appear one day at the gates and fix everything.

They were short on team members, lacking adult staff due to the untimely death of the Professor, Jean and Scott, and the cure was causing uproar amongst the students due to the various attitudes towards it.

There were those similar to Rogue, (well Marie as she prefers to be called), who desired the cure to rid of the powers which were more like curses to them and often the people surrounding them. And then on the other side you had the proud mutants, much like Storm, who viewed the "cure" as a method designed to rid them of the qualities that make them who they are - mutants.

The fact that the government went about creating this cure simply implies that there is something wrong with them, here they were_ fighting _for some sort of acceptance and they are encouraging them to take it in order to, 'make them normal! Wasn't the whole point of the X-Men to bring about peace and justice between mankind and mutants? From what Bobby could understand, rather than attempting to allow mutants into ordinary society, the government saw it fit to eradicate their kind completely, as though mutants would have no problem whatsoever with throwing away their gifts.

Of course not_ all _mutants did agree, in particular the Brotherhood. This had caused a vast number of difficulties for the X-men and humans alike in recent months. Predominantly the horrific attack on Worthington labs. Here Magneto, charismatic leader of the troublesome Brotherhood, had devised a plan which intended the source of the cure to be destroyed and for them to get rid of any of it that was remaining.

Knowing of this the X-men had flew out in the jet in order to defend against Magneto's newly-recruited army. Despite being greatly outnumbered they fought valiantly and prevailed, well, sort of. Previously known as Jean Grey, the personality Phoenix had obliterated almost everything in the surrounding area, sparing few lives and holding no remorse.

This alone had caused what remained of the scattered Brotherhood to flee or perish, or those who had been reformed into humans due to the "cure" weapons, to be forced into living a human life. Magneto was unfortunate enough to be stabbed in the chest with some stray darts, by none other than Henry McCoy, the now resident doctor of the school. Why all this action was taking place Bobby was rather occupied in settling the score with his old best friend, Pyro.

He couldn't exactly continue to let the wayward teenager ignite cars that were crashing down all over the ground and setting the area alight could he? Pyro never did know when enough was enough. Anyway, to conclude with the retelling of the final battle between the two sides, Bobby had engulfed his whole body in ice and not-so-nicely head butted the unsuspecting Pyro solidly in the skull. After knocking the boy unconscious Bobby had left his old friend, and possessed no further knowledge about what happened to him. Dead, cured, escaped, imprisoned... dying?

Nobody knew. And leaving him there on the island was one of Bobby's biggest regrets, Pyro wasn't _bad _as such. It was hard to convince others that though, given the fact the the fire-mutant was the one blowing up clinics and finding it amusing, but he always was weird like that, too absorbed with power and destruction.

Regardless of all the wrong that Pyro had committed, Bobby still believed that _John _remained. And right now if he was still alive, was an extremely confused and lost young man. If there was one thing at all that Bobby could wish for, it would be the opportunity to make things right again, like they were before Rogue arrived, before Alkali Lake and before John left them.

That dream was going to be made available sooner than he realised.

* * *

Meanwhile, a sullen teenager stepped cautiously through a junk yard. As of late, Pyro had taken to keeping low, often searching scrapheaps like this for anything retain able. Today he had obtained a mangled, damp sofa, an old wooden and chipped table - which looked like a woodworm's paradise, and finally a cotton sheet that was ideal for sleeping with, and actually semi-dry!

All around, a pretty good haul. At the moment he was passing through the tip and making his way back to his temporary home, an empty block of flats in a run-down area in New York. The other homeless people there hadn't bothered him since he'd lit that guy's beard on fire, served him right too.

He supposed he should be grateful for the second chance he'd been given, after all not everyone made it off that island alive. After being knocked out by Bobby, which he was yet to attain revenge for, he had been out of it for what he assumed to be roughly a few minutes. Upon awaking he had been horrified at the scene before him, bodies being disintegrated and shattered like fragile glass.

Without a second thought and a tremendous headache Pyro had sprinted desperately for the uprooted bridge. The events of that day weren't particularly pleasurable to recall. After making it onto the bridge leading to San Francisco, he had had paused at the dangerous edge and considered jumping.

Pyro had never really placed himself into the suicidal category, he enjoyed the thrill of life. Even after being subjected to the one he had suffered, the thought of killing himself had never _really_ crossed his mind. Perhaps out of minor curiosity they had existed, yet he can surely admit that they never lingered there for long though, they were simply pushed away like everything else.

Deciding on not adding to the countless amount of suicidal jumps off the notorious bridge, Pyro had continued on until eventually making it to the other side. Here he had begun his tiresome journey from state to state. After dying his hair and adorning some newly purchased clothes with what little cash he had remaining, he had begun hitching rides gathering money from various methods to pay for bus fares.

Somehow, subconsciously (as Pyro refused to admit that he was aiming for this destination in the first place), he had returned to New York, some miles away from the institute. Of course this was only a coincidence, he was never planning on going back...

To summarise his present state of living, Pyro had been degraded to utter filth, living off scraps of food like a street-rat and even stooping as low as to steal. Just like old times, eh? He'd considered journeying back to Xavier's numerous times now, only his pride wouldn't allow him. He was certain Bobby would get a kick out of that, Pyro the 'tough guy' pleading to be given permission to come back. Well fuck him, he wasn't going to give anyone that satisfaction. Pyro was a survivor, he had never needed anyone or anything, (not including his trusty lighter of course!), and he wasn't about to start now. No way.

* * *

**A few days later...**

He'd had enough. He was tired of the rooting through piles of trash, selling his body, stealing, fighting... the running away. Being plainly honest, there was a reason he'd ended up back here, and if there was anyone who would be willing to take him in away from this damn November rain, it would be the X-Men. They were always forgiving, and Pyro only hoped that that was still the case now that the Professor was deceased.

Running it over in his head one more time outside the gates of the mansion, Pyro analysed the thoughts and memories inside his head. Why should he go back to the Brotherhood? Magneto had left him there to die, just as he had left Mystique stripped of clothing and dignity on the hard floor of that convoy. It seemed that the only thing Magneto truly cared about was achieving his goal, and fighting for the cause that they believed in - regardless of any losses along the way.

He held no concern for those who were sacrificed. The support for that point was only intensified when he'd uttered the words, _**"that's why the pawns go first"**._

With one last sign of defeat, Pyro began what seemed like a walk of shame along the path that led to the huge entrance.

Arriving at the steps he gave a hesitant knock, though still loud enough to be heard through the solid door.

No answer. Unsurprising really, it was rather late, precisely 4:11 am. Pyro was undeterred though, and continued with his rapping upon the door, which after about a minute became more of a pounding.

Growling in frustration, Pyro pulled his leg back in preparation to kick the door. However he did not anticipate the two forceful hands that roughly gripped his shoulders suddenly from behind. Before he had the time to react, Pyro had been twisted uncomfortably into an arm lock and now had three adamantium claws hovering dangerously in front of his vulnerable neck, the sound similar to that of a deadly blade being unsheathed.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here, Bub." Wolverine informed ferociously whilst holding a firm grip on the young man within his grasp, who wasn't making any attempt to break free. "I know." Pyro admitted weakly, "but I really have no where else to go."

While he looked the epitome of calm on the outside, Pyro's insides were not so together and his mind refused to let him forget about the precarious position he was currently in. Not to mention the fact that he couldn't take his damn eyes of those _fucking_ metal claws that were about to tear their way clean through his bloody throat!

Grip relenting and composure faltering for a brief moment upon hearing the traitor's submissive words, Wolverine began to actually take note of the younger mutant's appearance. The word 'haggard' was an _overstatement_. The sight of the boy was very poor indeed: the blood stained clothes, the uncharacteristic scruffy hair and from what Logan could make out, Pyro's face was decorated in numerous cuts and bruises.

Did he mention that he also looked more Ethiopian than Australian? Regardless of the kid's condition Wolverine was far from welcoming the violent mutant back with open arms, and he was not willing to forgive so easily. Nevertheless he made a decision, and after harshly pushing Pyro out of his hold and making certain to keep his gaze lingering on the mistrustful teenager, he proceeded to retract his silver communicator from his jacket.

"Storm?", after about thirty seconds and a few prompts later a sleepy-sounding voice could be heard from the receiver.

"Logan, what is it?"

"You'll never guess who's decided to come crawling back, quite literally judging by the state of him... Allerdyce," Wolverine informed with something which Pyro could only identify as disgust and the tiniest hint of... concern in his voice?

A pause.

"John?"

"Yeah, the one and only, you know? Cocky, troublesome, back-chatting, arrogant, attention-seeking, rude, obnoxious..."

"Logan," Storm warned.

"K Ro', what are we going to do with him? I suspect the authorities will want him, he _is _amutant terrorist after all." Wolverine cast an accusing glare at Pyro, much like the one he'd also been on the receiving end of that day he had given the Drake's lawn a makeover with flames.

However at the moment, he was too busy trying to retain a healthy body temperature to notice. Fire-mutants without a lighter and wearing nothing but a thin brown shirt and some jeans didn't cope well in –5°C weather!

He stopped blowing warm air into his hands though the moment he heard the word 'authorities'. Surely they wouldn't turn him in? Mild panic washing over him he lifted his head up quickly and began to protest, "no! You can't hand me over, please... I know I made a mistake and I'm sorry."

"Please, I've realised I was wrong to leave in the first place and I give you my word that it won't happen again!" He was pleading desperately now, anything to make them reconsider that option. God how he did absolutely _loathe_ this lost boy act. In spite of this he convinced himself that it was necessary and fixed Wolverine with the most persuasive stare he could muster.

"Your 'word' amounts to shit in this world as far as I'm concerned," he spat. There was another short pause in which Pyro assumed was Storm talking, before Wolverine let out an affirmative and replaced the communicator in it's rightful pocket. Then withdrawing the same hand he thrust it out palm faced upwards, expectantly in front of him.

After gaining nothing more than a raised eyebrow from the shivering boy he began to explain impatiently, "lighter now."

"Oh," Pyro mumbled and shoved his hands into the half-filled pockets of his jeans, "I kinda lost it."

"What?" Wolverine questioned incredulously, hardly believing for a second that the person standing in front of him was speaking the truth, the kid was always fooling around with the bastard thing!

Pyro shrugged, "Some guys took it... I'm being honest and I'd appreciate it if you could politely stop giving me that death glare? _I. Haven't. Got. It._" He informed with emphasis.

"I'm under no obligation whatsoever to do anything you request, kid. Now you're just damn lucky that Storm's allowing you to..."

"She's letting me back?!" Pyro exclaimed, surprise evident on his broken features. After being subjected to so much negativity in the past weeks he'd grown accustomed to automatically assume the worst. Practically the story of his life.

"Don't get your hopes up too high. We've agreed to let you in tonight, you'll be questioned on the reasons for the actions you took, you'll _prove_ you can be trusted, and well... we'll see where things go from there." Wolverine laid out the plan clearly.

With a grateful nod Pyro gestured towards the door, "you gonna let me in then? I think my toes are frozen... No really, I'm serious!" He added convincingly after Wolverine merely gave him a blank stare.

With a last scowl, though lacking the previous anger it possessed at the first encounter, Wolverine unlocked the doors and motioned for Pyro to move in front of him.

And thus begun the return of Pyro's... no. _John's _life.

_**

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**Well there's the first chapter, they always seem to look good on your computer. Though the moment you upload it you can see **so** many mistakes! I don't actually have a beta reader though, so I guess it's not that much of a crime :)**

_**Don't forget to leave me a review if you liked or purely despised, there's nothing an author values more than feedback after all. **_

-**_ DeathRealm._**


	2. Flaming Outbursts

**_DISCLAIMER: I do not hold ownership of X Men or any of the characters mentioned in this work of fiction, I am only using the ideas of them to fit in with a plot of my creation._**

_**I don't own Cinnamon Grahams either!**_

_**The main purpose of this chapter is to show how the relationship is between John and Bobby at the moment, and the other character's reactions to John's return.**_

* * *

After 'interrogating' him as John had so dramatically put it, Storm had made arrangements to organise a supervisor for him. While she was doing this Logan had escorted him to the kitchen where he was able to quell his raging hunger. Though he hadn't admitted it before now, John was _extremely_ hungry, and he didn't care if he looked like a poor, starved beggar right now as long as he could eat freely. 

He was actually quite lucky that Wolverine and himself were the only ones present in the room, the reason being it was only now nearing 6:00am on a Saturday morning and the majority of students were still asleep. And what a shock it would be to walk into the kitchen for some breakfast, only to find a traitorous, fire-manipulator reacquainting himself with his old 'home'.

John grinned at the thought of the scenario behind his spoonful of Cinnamon Grahams. At seeing this Logan fixed his attention solely on him, "what the hell are you smirking at?" He inquired suspiciously.

"Woah! I'm just happy to finally get a little hospitality, living on the streets for weeks ain't exactly pretty you know? And anyway, how do you expect me to attempt to prove loyalty to you guys if you're going to be experiencing such major trust issues? I only grinned... Gee."

In an unexpected burst of anger, Logan immediately stood, and toppling his stool with the vigorous movement, reached forwards across the island surface and pulled the startled teenager forcefully by his collar towards him. The quick manoeuvre caused John to drop his spoon in shock, and after being tugged towards the enraged man his half-filled bowl of cereal had also been sent crashing to the tiled floor.

"Listen up, bub! I think anyone who's been subjected to a fucked-up, mutant terrorist trying to toast them, has _every_ right to have 'trust issues'. The only person who needs to alter the way they are is _you. _It's your duty and your's alone to fix what you've destroyed, and I for one won't go out of my way to make it easier for you kid." Upon finishing his exclamation, Logan removed his hands from the now rather stretched T-shirt and made his way out of the room in a pissed off manner.

"Shit... nice going John, back for a few hours and you've already infuriated the animal!" John muttered to himself, glancing down at the ugly mess spread out on the floor. "I'd clean that up if I were you," a stern voice advised from the doorway.

Swirling around in surprise, courtesy of the spinning breakfast bar stool, John was met with the infamous Iceman... perfect. What was it with people scaring him like that lately? Quickly recovering, he shot out an automatic comeback at the good-natured teenager. "Ah, and here I thought mopping floors was your forte, you always were a bit of a Mommy's boy."

Satisfied with the angered glare he received, John rose and proceeded to locate the materials needed to go about getting rid of the remains of his breakfast. He reasoned with himself that if he was going to make a good impression, cleaning the mess that _Wolverine_ was the causation of, would be a pretty good place to begin.

"They were crazy to welcome you back, you're a worthless piece of trash. They're blind if they think things can go back to the way the were – people like you never change," Bobby declared.

Pausing momentarily in his task John looked up at the tall figure, "people like me?"

"Hopeless nobodies, those who go about their lives in denial, you'll never fit in John. Everywhere you go you face rejection, no, you _fear_ it. So you just get on with it, putting people down to give yourself a sense of importance and adopt a bad boy act. It's no surprise people hate your guts to be honest, and you know what? I see right through it. Right through you John."

"Nice speech frosty, you should really consider up taking therapy as a profession... seriously," John insisted dryly. "Now if you don't mind I'm quite busy, so why don't you run along and play 'Let's Be Celibates' with your South-end untouchable?"

Score! John could physically see the ice-creator's fists clench in controlled rage. God he'd missed winding Bobby up like this. "_Rogue_, I'll have you know, is as 'touchable' as ever! Maybe if you'd have stuck around instead of forming an alliance with that havoc-reeking, old man, you would be aware of that fact."

Was it just him... or did Bobby's voice lose the majority of it's maliciousness at the end there? He'd just pretend he hadn't noticed.

"And anyway," Bobby continued, "as much as I'd like to leave your sorry-ass here slaving over spilt milk and broken porcelain, I've been assigned the job of babysitting you. Damn it John, stop looking at me like that! You think I'm pleased with this situation any more than you are?"

John did not reply, instead he ignored Bobby and emptied the contents of the dustpan he was using into the silver bin on the far left side of the kitchen. Then after shuffling to replace the item into the cupboard, resumed his place by the counter. An uncomfortable silence remained for a few minutes later. And as Bobby held his position in the doorway, John tapped his fingers rhythmically against the side.

"Alright, let's cut the shit yeah? What the hell is the plan?" John gave in first, unable to stand the awkwardness much longer and never a great lover of silences – more so this type.

"Fine, here's the deal. For the moment you are under _no _circumstances to be left alone, and you will not be allowed to have in your possession, or be near, any source of flame. Understood?"

John nodded with a semi-scowl, but still couldn't prevent his disobedient head from turning ever so slightly in the direction of the unprotected cooker. Following this motion, Bobby began to warn the ex-student of Xavier's. "Don't even bother Pyro, I'll have you frozen in place before you even so much as take a step towards it."

There was something different with Bobby's voice, John noticed. It was almost as though he had grown up, matured. He was no longer the carefree teenager, but one burdened with responsibility, John could certainly see him as 'Mr. Bobby Summers'.

All John gave in response to Bobby's threat was the narrowing of his eyes and the typical curling of his lip, he always did that when people got to him. "I wasn't going to. Now who's genius idea was it to match you up with me? We're not exactly the best of chums right now..."

"Ororo's actually. She figured that as my powers are pretty much the opposite of yours, they are able to neutralise them most effectively. And naturally if anyone comes close to understanding you, I know you best, I did room with you for a good few years. Do you really need to bother asking _why_?" He asked.

With a shrug John pulled himself up onto the polished counter and returned his stare to the boy stood rigidly in front of him. If there was ever a time for some kind of reconciliation, now was suited finely for it.

"Look... I know you're still pretty fucked off about me leaving you guys, but you have to see things from my point of view. I'd like it a lot if we could simply forget it ever happened and, I can't believe I'm saying this but, move on?" John looked vaguely hopeful.

"It's not that simple damn it! You just disappeared, left us, left _me_. You didn't even say goodbye, John, and to think I actually fooled myself into believing you would return for months, I was such a fool. Though I should thank you, I'm not the same naïve boy I used to be any more. You have a lot of broken relationships to repair John."Bobby informed with sadness evident in his tone, "now you can do yourself some good by getting out of here before any of the kids see you and by helping me move your old bed into my new room."

Nodding unhappily John hopped off the counter and tiredly followed Bobby out of the kitchen and into the corridor. He had only just begun to realise how achy his body actually was, once he'd gotten some sleep he was definitely jumping into Bobby's bathtub.

Oh yes... Bobby. He'd forgotten that he had his personal assistant wherever he went. No worries, Bobby would probably enjoy the sight anyway. However, words could not describe the excitement John felt with the knowledge that he was going to be spending so much time with his old best friend.

The idea _almost,_ topped the thought of being thrown from the observatory only to be impaled on Wolverine's blood-thirsty claws. Oh joy!_

* * *

_

After a long struggle and a wide variety of vulgar language (mostly on John's part), between them the two boys had eventually managed to complete the extremely difficult task of getting the single, wooden bed into Bobby's room.

At present John was sorting through his old clothes in the attempt of finding something more suitable to wear, after all Wolverine had literally destroyed the elastic in this one and inserted a permanent crease into the fabric. And Bobby, well he was just staring at him intently. Christ, did he think John was going to pull a lighter out of nowhere? Unless...

"All of your old lighters were confiscated."

Bobby can read minds now?! "Clever thinking." He supplied. "Though it's not as though I would have set the place on fire, you guys don't give me half of the credit I deserve. All I want is to feel some fire, manipulate it into any form I like and let it dance around my fingers..." John stared transfixed at his hand, as though he were performing the action of controlling the flame.

"You people have taken away the only thing that I have ever truly been able to rely on," John's eyes darkened as his hand clenched tightly, "why would you do that?"

"Why did you leave in the first place?" Bobby countered.  
Just as John was about to reply there was a soft knock on the door, and then without waiting for any sort of response, the interrupter entered the room. If the atmosphere was tense before, then John had no idea how to describe it in words now.

"Marie." Bobby greeted in surprise. The look in his eyes was all that John required to know that the girl had not yet been informed of his return. So wiping the stunned look off his face, he put on a fake grin and shot out a brief, "hey" in her direction.

"What the hell is _he_ doing here?!" She demanded of Bobby with tears of hatred springing to her eyes, the emotion in them was so raw that if she hadn't have taken the pathetic cure, John would have been fearing for his life right now. He'd made a huge mistake in judgement through assuming he was safe.

As soon as Bobby had begun to explain, Rogue had turned to the dressing table behind her and grabbed the nearest thing she could find – an alarm clock. Unfortunately for John, with the unexpectedness of the violent attack and his added lethargy he was unable to move out of the way in time. The medium-sized, plastic electronic hit him squarely on the left side of his face, just below his eye.

"Fucking hell!" He yelled, his face contorted in pain, "are you trying to bloody _kill _me?!" He knew the injury he'd sustained wasn't that bad, but the blood beginning to gather on his hands still disturbed him. The sight of anyone else's had never bothered him in the slightest, though he always seemed to over-dramatise things when it was his own.

Bobby had leapt to his feet the moment he had realised Marie's intentions and was now restraining her from inflicting any further damage. "You deserve everything you get you heartless bastard!" She cried.

Tears were streaming freely down her face now, and in John's opinion her behaviour was totally unnecessary, he hadn't even done anything to her personally. He'd tried to burn Bobby alive but the guy hadn't started throwing spoons at him in the kitchen earlier, what was her fucking problem?

Girls were so damn emotional.

Bobby's attempts at offering some kind of comfort were in vain as she continued to verbally abuse John, who was still at the moment cringing from the stinging of his cheekbone. Bobby's eyes darted between the two people as he tried to decide how to go about resolving the confrontation.

"How could you do it? You destroyed that building, what about the people in it? People like me, you don't care about anyone but yourself!" She exclaimed in disgust, "and as long as you're staying in this school John, you better just stay the hell away from me." With one last disbelieving shake of her head, Marie released herself from Bobby's hold and pushed her way out of the room.

"Oh God," John whispered, his voice shaking as he felt the warm, sticky blood begin to trickle down his arm. Bobby rushed over, (yes, _rushed_ over!) and knelt down next to John on the floor. "Come on, get up." He commanded authoritatively, whilst trying to keep the concern from his voice. He didn't care about this person, not anymore. He couldn't after what he'd done.

He lifted the smaller teenager from the floor and began to support him as they steadily moved towards the on-suite bathroom. This gave him the opportunity to actually _feel _how thin John had become since leaving, he must have lost over a stone, and he was never extraordinary heavy to begin with.

"Ow man, get the fuck off me!" John hissed as Bobby removed his hands from the wound. It was about four centimetres in length and a single centimetre deep, pretty nasty. "Wow, she really threw that thing hard didn't she?"

"Just... just fix it please, stop it, it keeps bleeding!" John was beginning to panic now, he couldn't control it, why? He had a scratch on his face and he was on the verge of tears!

Only just remembering John's dislike of the sight of his own blood, Bobby mentally kicked himself and quickly moved across the fairly decent-sized bathroom in search of the first-aid kit. After knocking a few things out of the way he caught sight of the object of his desire, and pulled it out of the pale cabinet.

"Here," he murmured after dampening a cloth and proceeding to freeze it partially, "hold this to it for a minute." While John was doing as he was told, Bobby was rummaging through the case looking for a suitable sized band aid to cover the cut. "So, you got what you deserved eh?"

"Shut the fuck up Bobby."

"Fair enough..." Gesturing for the brunette to drop the cloth he squinted to examine the minor cut and surrounding bruising, "well it's not fatal, not exactly attractive either though." Then gently placing the plaster below the boy's eye, he began shoving the original contents of the box back away and returned it to it's cabinet.

"You feeling okay then? I don't like the fact that she aimed for your head man. I don't particularly like you right now, but that was dangerous."

"No I'm not Bobby, I have a terrible fucking headache, my face feels like it's been hit with a mallet, my body is aching all over and I'm just tired. So just stop acting like you care, yeah?" John suggested.

"I'm going to bed, I don't give a shit if it's already morning." He stated, moving from the edge of the bathtub and back into the bedroom. He said nothing else as he collapsed onto the covers and closed his eyes to block out the light.

Observant as ever, Bobby took note of this and in result closed the curtains over. "Are you sleeping in your clothes?" No reply. "Fine then, suit yourself. I'm going to get a shower, can I trust you not to set my room alight?"

A grunt was the only acknowledgement Bobby got, and giving in he grabbed some clothes to wear and entered the bathroom. This day was beginning to stress him out already.

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_**More coming soon! Shorter chapters equals faster posting :)**_

_**Please review if you have the time and I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.**_

_**Until next time!**_

_**DeathRealm**_


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